Page 134 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
I nod, wipe my nose and follow Jamie through a hallway and up some beige carpeted stairs. From one of the rooms, I hear the sound of a bed squeaking along with a bunch of muffled sighs and moans.
‘My room-mates,’ Jamie grimaces. ‘They sometimes start early. Come on, I’ve got earplugs.’
Jamie’s room is large and clean, with blonde hardwood floors and lots of medical textbooks lined up on Billy bookcases. It looks like a student bedroom, which, I suppose, is what it is, after all. I notice lots of pictures hung up above his desk. Pictures of Jamie with family members and friends, a few of him with his nephew Charlie. I feel a rumble of self-pity in my stomach. I wonder what it must have been like to grow up like that. Surrounded by a normal, loving, functional family.
Jamie takes off his dressing gown to reveal, underneath, his tartan boxer shorts and a grey T-shirt that says ‘Bazinga’ on it. He climbs into the bed and I crawl in beside him, noticing that the duvet cover smells nice, like washing powder. I curl up into him and he flings his arm over my body. It’s comforting and safe. Almost immediately he gets a boner.
I jump away and turn round. ‘Jamie!’ I scold, wiping my nose. ‘Inappropriate much?’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Natural reaction.’
I sniff and turn back round, snuggling my head into the pillow.
‘Unless . . . it might make you feel a bit better?’ he adds.
He’s right. It probably would make me feel a bit better. Things are easy with Jamie. There are no weird whizzy feelings, no heart thumps and melting. No . . . love.
‘Thanks, Doc. But I just want to get some sleep.’
Jamie leans down and kisses the back of my head. He hands me a packet of neon-yellow earplugs, which I eagerly shove in to drown out the noise of his amorous room-mates. Less than thirty seconds later, I’m asleep.
* * *
I wake up the next morning to the sound of my mobile ringing. My throat is raw and sore, my head is pounding. I feel like I’ve got a shitty hangover and I barely had anything to drink. I turn over, but Jamie isn’t there. I grab out onto the bedside table for my phone. It’s Valentina. Probably calling to see how the ball went. Shit.
‘Hey,’ I answer dazedly.
‘Jess, my lavender puff, how are you?
‘Er … ’
‘Listen, I’m afraid I’ve got some rather upsetting news.’
I quickly sit up in the bed, which makes my head pound even harder. Ow.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Unfortunately, first thing this morning we received an injunction notice from Rufus Frost regardingHow to Catch a Man like it’s 1955.’
‘What? I don’t understand?’
Valentina’s voice comes crystal clear through the speaker of my phone.
‘He has said that if we try to release the book, he will sue the Southbank Press.’
‘But . . . we weren’t going to use Leo’s actual name in the book?’
‘Yes, but we were going toimplyit – he was our “eternal bachelor”. Which would have been fine, but now there’s a picture of you together in theTelegraph, and after his public declaration last night – which is on all the industry blogs and before you know it the gossip columns will stumble onto it – it will be clear who we’re talking about. I’m afraid it’s just not worth the hassle for us. And even if we could slip past it legally, Rufus has said that Davis Arthur Montblanc would never want to be part of a company who upset his nephew. And Davis Arthur Montblanc is our most important author.’
My stomach sinks. After everything that’s just happened, there’s not even going to be a book? This whole thing was for nothing?
‘I can’t fucking believe this,’ I mutter into the phone, feeling the tears well up again. ‘Why did you not think of this beforehand?’
‘I know, pickle. It’ssucha pain. I hadsuchplans for the book, and you didsuchan amazing job on the scoundrel.’
‘He’s not a scoundrel, Valentina,’ I respond angrily. ‘He told me what happened with you guys. He behaved badly, I know, but he apologized to you. You didn’t tell me that. And you conveniently forgot to mention that he was completely honest with you about not wanting anything serious. You let me believe that he was cruel and heartless when he wasn’t. He was just a bit of a tit. He didn’t deservethis.’
Valentina gasps. ‘I truly thought thatHow to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955was a fantastic idea for a book,’ she retorts. ‘I still do. I make all my publishing decisions with nothing but absolute integrity. I’m highly offended that you, my beautiful protégé, would think that I—’
